The Effect of Pole Dancing on a Thursday Afternoon
by PythonFan
Summary: The sight that greeted her was astoundingly pathetic. She would’ve laughed if she had the energy.


Mimi dragged herself up the last few steps to the loft, legs aching. Was it really only one in the afternoon? Seven straight hours of work took its toll on her small frame. The knee-high boots felt like dead weights on her feet. She wanted nothing more than a cup of hot tea, a soft bed, and a warm boyfriend.

Or, you know, just the tea and the bed.

She pulled open the door with all the strength she could muster. The sight that greeted her was astoundingly pathetic. She would've laughed if she had the energy.

Maureen sat at the table, sipping something from a battered tin mug, the Village Voice spread out in front of her. Roger was sprawled comfortably on the ratty orange sofa, his right foot kicked up on the armrest, the left settled firmly on the floor. Mark lounged in the old plaid armchair.

In itself, there was nothing particularly unusual about the scene; they were just three unemployed artists sitting home around midday. What were almost comical, however, were the expressions on the faces of the two men, their eyes glued to the old television.

They reminded Mimi of the cartoons she used to watch on Saturday mornings. Mark's eyebrows appeared to have shot up to his hairline. His blue eyes stared out from underneath his glasses, unblinking.

Roger, on the other hand, had his head cocked at a bizarre angle, brow furrowed as if in a trance. Like Mark, his eyes never left the shoddy old screen.

She wondered vaguely what had the pair of them so interested, but decided that she didn't care all that much after all. Maybe after a nap.

"Hey," she greeted them. Maureen looked up with a sympathetic grin. "Hi, honey."

Mimi smiled tiredly in response, then turned to the others.

Neither had moved. Neither had changed their expressions. Neither had acknowledged her presence.

They just kept staring.

Roger's role in this was particularly troubling. Because when the guy you're sleeping with doesn't so much as notice your presence in what is a reasonably empty room…it's probably not a good thing.

Obviously, something needed to be done.

Despite her weariness, Mimi strode the short distance to the television and rattled the wire hanger that hung from the wayward antenna. As she suspected, with the picture skipping, the spell was broken. Both men jerked a bit, all fluttering eyes and shaking heads. Behind them, Maureen almost choked on whatever she was drinking.

"Damn it, Meems, you just—" As the full realization of his girlfriend's presence sunk in, however, Roger calmed a bit. "Oh…sorry, babe…" he apologized, a sheepish grin gracing his features.

The thought of how adorable he looked was probably best left for another time. Instead, she raised an eyebrow in his direction. "Afternoon." she replied, smiling coolly. "Whatcha watchin'?"

A quick, nervous glance between the two men told Mimi that it wasn't just the hypnotic effects of everyday television. She wasn't sure whether to throw her keys or fall into a fit of giggling. Meanwhile, Roger and Mark continued to hem and haw.

"Just…"

"…with the…"

"I'm not really…um…"

Maureen, however, decided to alleviate the confusion.

"Pole dancing." she supplied helpfully.

The other three turned toward the grinning brunette. Mark looked shocked and a little mortified by her presence, Mimi looked as if she was sorry she had even started the conversation, and Roger was glaring like his mother had just walked in on him with a sock and scrambled porn.

Mimi was the first to speak. "'scuse me?" she asked a small voice that betrayed more bewilderment than anger.

"It's one of those girly talk shows. They're talking about how pole dancing is this new kind of exercise. Or something. Anyway, they had demonstrations." Perhaps realizing that she'd said too much, Maureen took another swig from her mug and turned her attention back to the paper.

An uncomfortable silence followed. Just the words "pole dancing" made Mimi's muscles ache. She crossed to the kitchen, grabbing a mismatched mug of her own from the counter. After filling it with steaming water from the coffeepot that stood atop the hotplate, she rattled around the cabinets for a tea bag. The search successful, she bobbed the tiny bag up and down in the piping hot liquid, watching it turn a luminous amber.

Mark finally spoke up. "You must be in good shape." he offered evenly.

Mimi let a long, sly grin cross her face. "I'm in _excellent _shape." she purred, making her way across the loft towards Roger's room. As she passed the couch, however, she leaned over ever-so-slightly to run her fingers suggestively up her lover's arm and into his hair, mussing the already-tousled locks. "And certain boyfriends would do well to remember that."

Roger's wide eyes and dumbfounded expression, like a starving dog tracking a bone, invigorated her enough to sway her hips and wink at him in a manner that, given her exhausted state, wasn't completely ridiculous. It hadn't been her best work, she decided, as she entered the bedroom, kicked off her boots, and slid under the thin blankets. But she was pretty sure it was enough. She took a long sip of tea, then settled the mug on the crates that served as a nightstand before curling up into a ball and closing her eyes.

It was perhaps ten seconds later when she heard the creak of the door, her suspicions confirmed. She felt his presence behind her before he spoke. His voice was rough with arousal.

"They're gone now."

She pursed her lips, still facing away from him. "Yeah?"

"Kicked 'em out."

She turned to face him now, hair mussed, a sleepy, sexy smile on her face. "Good." she murmured seductively. With her last ounce of strength, she reached for the pillow on the other side of the bed and tossed it at him.

"You get the couch."


End file.
